


Worth the Wait

by Fenix21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Consensual Underage Sex, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sammy is a late bloomer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth the Wait

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Four Winters: I](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007585) by [Linden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linden/pseuds/Linden). 



> I got a hankering while I was reading Linden's eminently wonderful _Four Winters_ series. So, here it is.
> 
> It would only let me link one as my inspiration, but you must go read all four. Go. Go now.

Sammy was a late bloomer.

Not in the physique department, supple muscles already defining themselves under the thinning layer of baby fat. Or in the height department either—the kid’s damn bones had lengthened another two inches over the summer months and put Sam too close to Dean’s eye level for comfort for a baby brother who was just this side of fourteen.

No, Sammy’s body was outrunning just about every benchmark except in one area—a crucial one—that don’t think Dean didn’t know he was ten kinds of a sick _fuck_ for even being aware of much less jealously keeping track.

Sam hadn’t come yet.

Not for real. God knew Dean had to suffer through enough whining and panting while Sam tried to jack himself off in the late hours of the night when he thought his big brother was asleep. There were the wet dreams, too, that just weren’t so wet so to speak. Sam moaning like a wanton trollop in the early morning just before he woke so that Dean had _on occasion_ —not that he’d admit to anyone, anywhere, living or dead—wriggled backward the last scant inches between them in the queen bed that was becoming cramped with Sam’s added inches, and let his little brother’s aching dick find the warm crevasse of Dean’s ass and rut there until he shuddered into silence a few seconds later. All this so John wouldn’t be woken by the noise and embarrass his younger son to hell.

But Sam never came, not properly. A wet drop here or there, but never any healthy, pearly white geysers that Dean was sure that thick, ample length pressing hot and hard against his ass ought to be able to produce.

Dean satisfied his sick awareness of this particular deficiency in Sam’s development by telling himself that he was sincerely worried something might be wrong with his little brother. Because, lord knew, Dean had been bundling up wet, sticky, stained hotel sheets since the age of twelve until he’d gotten better control over his teenage urges and managed to preempt his untimely releases with long, hot showers and sneaked copies of _Busty Asian Beauties_ that he kept buried in the bottom of his duffle.

Until recently anyway.

Recently, his dick had been getting pretty impulsive on its own again just like when his hormones were raging between the age of twelve and sixteen and nearly anything walking would get him hard. Be chalked it up to the onset of Sam’s puberty. The kid was finally growing up and maybe it was pheromones or something Dean’s dick was picking up that caused it to wake him up hard and aching and seconds from coming himself whenever Sam took it into his head to dry hump his fist, which was getting more and more often the last couple of months.

——

John had deposited them last week in a rundown brownstone in the crap, decaying part of some town that hadn’t gotten the memo on the turn of the century back in 1900. Okay, so it wasn’t that bad, not really, if Dean was honest. It was quiet, at least, and had surprisingly few hauntings of its own for a small, ancient, backwater town. It only had two schools to accommodate the two or three hundred kids total the community had produced. One was for grades K-6, and the other went up through high school. It meant there was a fantastic student to teacher ratio with a lot of the teachers being mothers of the local kids. So, Sam was in seventh heaven when John went ahead and signed him up for school, saying they’d probably winter here, and Sam was immediately taken under the wing of three of his teachers on the first day.

Three days after they got there, John high-tailed it.

Unmoved and unsurprised, Dean went to town to see if the local garage needed any part-time help during the day because he knew the three hundred dollars John left him with wasn’t going to cover _shit_ when Sam came bouncing in the door the first day of school nattering on about the track and field team and fall soccer sign-ups, all of which would require uniforms, shoes, and equipment that cost money; and the town was damn near dry, boasting only one bar that doubled as a grill and was open to the kiddies until close at eleven, and only had one dilapidated pool table at the back in any case with a couple of warped cue sticks and a missing eight ball. So, hustling was definitely out.

Then there was the sleeping situation.

The upper floor had two more bedrooms, but at the leading edge of fall this far south it was still hot, so Dean and Sam opted for the still stuffy but cooler lower floor master bedroom. There was room enough to set up two beds, but why go to the trouble with the king mattress already there? Dean tended to cling to the edge these days anyway to avoid the inevitable sprawl of hot, sweaty Sam, so the king should be plenty for the both of them.

Dean had half expected a rejection of this arrangement given Sam’s nightly activities of late, but he would almost swear he saw a flicker of relief cross the kid’s face when he suggested they just share. And if that relief made something uncomfortably tight and hot coil even tighter still in Dean’s gut…well, it was quite possible that the double blue cheese and bacon burger he’d had for lunch on his boss’s dime hadn’t set quite right, that was all.

Dean might have been nuts, or his hyper-awareness of his little brother was just more intense at night, but he would swear Sam was getting louder and more frantic with his middle of the night escapades, letting the odd gasp or all-out groan escape his lips. He almost worried, thinking maybe the kid was actually in pain, maybe this _was_ some sort of medical condition they needed to get checked out before something ruptured…or something.

——

One Friday night near the end of September, after Dean had waited a good couple of hours to give Sam ample alone time with himself in the king size bed, Dean came into the bedroom after making a healthy dent in a fifth of Jack, shed his clothes down to his boxers, and slid under the covers.

He was just starting to drift, relaxing into the gentle rocking motion the Jack was giving to the room, when he heard a sharply bitten cry from behind him.

Dean’s eyes shot open. “Sammy?”

No answer. Just silence. Then a shuddering breath that hitched on a moan.

Dean would blame the liquor later for his just rolling right over and wrapping his arms around his baby brother’s long beautiful body. There were a hundred other things he could have done—well, six at least—that involved a lot more talking and lights being turned on, and a whole lot less full body contact.

Before Dean could even think, much less react, Sam was flipped around and facing him, stretched out all along him, dick digging into the hollow of Dean’s hip—and _fuck_ if the kid wasn’t buck naked—hands kneading at Dean’s back and shoulders like he was trying to find the right grip so as not to be ripped away in the shit storm that was about to happen

Only it didn’t.

And Dean would blame the Jack for that, too.

He would blame it for pulling Sam closer instead of thrusting him away. He would blame it for slotting his own thick erection up next to Sam’s and groaning low and hard when he felt his little brother’s body twitch and jerk eagerly at the contact. He would blame it for lowering his head so that he was breathing deep the scent of baby shampoo that Sam still used because he hated the sting of soap in his eyes, and the smell of sex, of wanting, of readiness that was rolling off his little brother in waves.

What he couldn’t blame it for was the way Sam turned his face up, angled his head, and brushed his lips, trembling and wet and soft, along Dean’s throat while he breathed his name like a prayer.

“Dean…please.”

_Fuck_.

Dean tensed, squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw tight against the gut punch of pure wanting that single breathed pleas dealt him.

He was sleeping. Dreaming, Dean told himself. That was it. Sam was still asleep. He had no idea what he was doing or saying. He was so used to Dean being in arms reach that it was natural for the kid to be saying his name—even maybe in a dream like _that._ Dean could be redeemed if that were the case. He would just extricate himself from Sam’s clinging limbs and roll over—maybe even take a cold shower, go sleep on the couch—and everything would be fine and Sam would never have to know and Dean would take this night to his grave.

“Dean….”

And then Dean made the mistake that would break him forever and reserve him his own personal room in Hell. He looked down and saw Sam’s dark eyes shining back at him, blown black with desire, and glinting in the cool light of the moon through the window.

“Jesus, _fuck_ , Sammy….”

Sam’s eyes widened a little at the rough, broken sound of his brother’s voice but his long, slender fingers dug deeper into Dean’s back and his hips canted forward, pressing their erections flush together, trapping them between their hot, quivering bellies.

“Want you, Dean,” Sam gasped, mouthing at his brother’s clavicle and then up his throat while it worked again and again to swallow as Dean tried to find it somewhere in himself to say something, _do_ something, other than groan at the feel of his little brother’s soft, hot mouth on his skin.

“Wanted _this_ …for so long,” Sam went on, kissing Dean somewhere new and branding him fresh every other word. “Been waiting. Wanting. God…thought I was gonna die waiting for you, Dean.”

“Sammy….”

There was supposed to be a lot more to that sentence, like, ‘Sammy, stop,’ or ‘Sammy, this is wrong, _so_ wrong,’ and ‘Sammy, we can’t _do_ this,’ but none of the rest of those words came out. Just Sam’s name on a moan that couldn’t fairly be mistaken for anything but need screwed up tight to desire and ready to come apart at the slightest urging.

Dean spread his legs, threw one up and over Sam’s hip, pulling him in tighter. “God, Sam. You gotta tell me to stop if….”

“No!” Sam’s fingers hooked in Dean’s ribs hard enough to make him flinch. “Don’t stop. Need this, Dean. Can’t even tell you how much I need it.”

Dean jerked at his boxers, unhooking his leg from Sam’s hip only long enough to kick them off and then tugged Sam back into the cradle of his hips and nearly died from the sweet, high cry of need that rippled out of Sam’s throat when he felt Dean’s bare, velvet hot flesh against his own.

“Dean, I—this isn’t going to—I wanted—.” 

Sam was frantic, breath coming in erratic little pants, hips losing any kind of rhythm at all as he squirmed and twisted against Dean, trying for every inch of friction he could manage.

“Whoa, baby. Slow down,” Dean murmured in the shell of Sam’s ear. He tightened his leg around Sam’s hips forcing them to stillness. “It’s gonna be all right. I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Can’t—Dean, I need—.”

Dean worked a hand between them, felt the slick wet on the tip of Sam’s dick, ran his thumb across it, caressed the swollen head, round and round. 

“Gonna come this time, Sammy? Think you can?” Dean asked, dipping his head to suck gentle bruises into the side of Sam’s neck and his shoulder, sinking lower to nip at his clavicle—that beautiful, prominent line of bone that Dean had spent far too many hours dreaming of licking from one shoulder to the other. “Can you come for me, Sammy? All wet and sticky? Can you do it?”

“Yes!” Sam nearly screamed as Dean worked his kissing lower down to Sam’s belly and wrapped the full, broad, warmth of his calloused palm around Sam’s iron hard length. Sam arched into Dean’s grip. “Jesus, yes! Been saving it just for you, Dean.”

Dean paused, eyes going wide in comprehension, and he looked up at his little brother, all arced out in moonlight and held up by shadow, and shuddered with the intensity of the realization that Sam had been saving himself for his brother.

Sam’s fingers found Dean’s short hair and knotted there, digging into his scalp and nudging him downward. “Wanted you to…have first taste.”

_Fuck all that was holy!_ Dean grabbed his dick and squeezed hard at the base, panting with the effort of not coming right on the spot at those filthy hot words. Sam wanted his first load to count. He didn’t want it wasted. He wanted it in Dean’s mouth, on his tongue, down his throat, and all over his lips.

Dean groaned, squeezing himself harder. Sam wanting his big brother to suck him off was only about the hottest thing Dean could imagine, and well, he was going to Hell already, so why not oblige the kid.

Dean slithered lower on the bed, pushing Sam’s thighs wide apart. Normally, he would take his time here. He’d lick and nibble and caress at dark hollows and long tender swathes of pale flesh that rarely saw the light of day and were hyper sensitive to the lightest breath. But they were both so damn close to the edge that there wasn’t time for any of that. Sam was bucking into Dean’s grip, dick so full it was nearly standing up to meet Dean’s spit slick lips on its own. He opened wide and curved his tongue, fitting it around Sam’s velvety head and petting him with tiny little contractions that made Sam scream out in frustration and claw at the sheets. Then Dean took pity and sank down a few inches, sucking gently and pushing his tongue against the thick, throbbing vein on the underside. He stayed like that for a minute or so, just reveling in the feel of Sam against his tongue, and then he pulled off and looked up Sam’s long, sweaty, strung-out body and whispered warm against his hard, aching flesh,

“Gonna make you come, Sammy. Wanna taste it. Gonna give it to me? Gonna let me get my fill of all that hot, sticky wet cum?” Sam moaned, whined, writhed under Dean’s dirty words. “Gonna give me your very first load, baby brother? Can you do it for me?”

“D-Dean…?!”

It was all the warning Dean had as he sank his mouth back over Sam’s throbbing cock and felt the sudden thick, wet, salty gush against the roof of his mouth. He swallowed and swallowed again and still Sam kept coming, until it filled Dean’s mouth and dribbled past his stretched lips and down Sam’s still hard cock.

Sam was surprisingly still and silent though the whole thing. For all the noise he’d made through all those long nights before, he didn’t so much as whimper now. He just let out a long rush of air like he’d been holding his breath forever and bowed his body upward into Dean’s mouth, every muscle locked and quivering with his release.

Somewhere in there, Dean came, too. He was barely aware of it, intoxicated as he was by the awesome privilege of being the very first to taste Sam’s potent, salty seed. The white hot haze that came over him may have been his own orgasm, but he couldn’t find the edges of where it began and his pleasure at drinking down Sammy’s first load ended. Either way, he’d never been as blissed out as he was in this moment with Sam’s cum still slick on his lips and his head pillowed on his little brother’s sharp, slender hip.

After an interlude of minutes that could as easily been hours, no better than Dean’s time sense was working at the moment, he crawled his way back up Sam’s still trembling body and held himself over his baby brother.

“Sammy, if this is—.”

Sam reached up and grabbed Dean’s head firmly on either side, pulling him down and down until their lips were a breath apart.

“Let me taste,” Sam whispered.

He slipped his tongue out to taste himself on Dean’s mouth, running it all along his bottom lip and licking into the corners until there was none left, and then he sealed his mouth over Dean’s and pulled him bodily down until they were pressed together chest to toe.

And if Dean had thought— _feared_ —for one fleeting second that this was just sex, just a way for his little brother to finally get some much needed relief, it was dispelled by the warm, sweet, softness in that kiss. The way Sam’s mouth moved all velvet and vulnerable against Dean, taking and giving in kind. 

And when they were both breathless with it and spent from the intensity of what they had just shared, Dean slipped off to the side and drew his little brother into the circle of his arms like he had so many times in years past. Sam curled into Dean’s body like he’d been made for it, and he whispered _I love you_ 's and promises of forever that Dean was too jaded to blindly believe in, but he would take it for now, for this moment. 

For this moment that he felt every part of himself satisfied, contended…loved. Hell may be waiting at the end of his road, but for tonight, he had heaven in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, that last line just screams cheesiness, but hey, I'm allowed every once in a while *wink*


End file.
